Red Eyed Demons
by Twinings
Summary: He says he isn't Jackson Rippner. He says he doesn't know her. But she knows his eyes. She will never forget.
1. Angels on the left side

Nikkums once told me to move on from _Batman Begins_ to _Red Eye_. Took me a month to do it, but woo. Pretty, pretty man.

I don't own _Red Eye_ any more than I own _Batman Begins_. But again, I wish I did.

* * *

Lisa Reisert stepped off the plan, shivering in the cold air. How completely different from her constant summer in Miami. There, it was muggy and so humid the air felt too heavy to breathe. Here, a light snow was falling.

Shouldering her carryon bag, Lisa followed the other passengers to the terminal.

Inside, the air was warmer, with a faint smell of machinery and human bodies. It was no different from any other airport she had been in; maybe a little prettier, but not as pretty as Detroit. Odd how the ugliest cities had the prettiest airports. When she had visited Detroit two years ago, she had been reminded of her childhood ideas about Idlewild. She had never actually visited that airport. It wouldn't be the same, anyway. John F. Kennedy had been a great man, but his name just didn't have the same romance as Idlewild.

Sliding gracefully through the crowd on her way to the baggage claim, Lisa was reaching for her cell phone to let her dad know she had arrived when she heard the voice.

"Jason Carver," it said.

Lisa's head whipped around, searching for the source of the calm, slightly amused voice she had heard so often in her nightmares.

There he was. She ducked behind a handy potted plant.

Jackson Rippner was standing at the ticket counter, smiling politely at the woman in the blue jacket and hat. His hair was a little longer now, a slightly lighter shade of brown, and he was wearing glasses, but she would have known him anywhere. The slightly rumpled dark brown business suit he wore was nearly identical to the one he had been wearing that night, except for the color and the fact that up here in the cold, he wore a sweater under his jacket. She knew the shape of his body, the deceptively slight build, the planes of his face, the color of his strangely compelling eyes.

It was the eyes that had caught her before, making her respond to the flirting of a cute, friendly stranger. It was the eyes that caught her now.

He looked nervous. Not much; it wouldn't be obvious to anyone who wasn't looking for it. She saw it.

She realized he must be on another job.

Lisa closed her eyes. He didn't seem to be after her this time. She didn't think he had seen her. She could run.

And if she did, how many innocent people would die?

"Enjoy your flight, Mr. Carver."

"Hey, Jack," Lisa called loudly, popping out from behind her plant. He ignored her, walking toward the elevator, a boarding pass in his left hand, a briefcase in his right. "Jackson Rippner!" He kept walking. A few other people stopped to stare at her. She darted forward to put a hand on his shoulder. He whirled to face her.

There was not a hint of recognition in his icy blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" he asked impatiently.

"Jackson?" For the first time, she wasn't quite sure.

"No, sorry. The name's Carver." He held up his boarding pass so she could see the name. "Excuse me. I'm going to miss my flight." He took a step away from her.

"Jackson Rippner," she insisted. He put his hands on her shoulders, banging her arm with the briefcase, and stared into her eyes. She saw no emotion in his face other than a slight impatience to get away.

"_No,_" he said. He started to walk away.

"Hold it!" He turned to face her again, definitely irritated.

"Miss, I don't have time for this. I can't miss this flight, all right? Now, if you really need this attention, you can go and find someone else to act out your little scene with you, but leave me out of it.

Lisa looked around. More people were staring. She smiled faintly.

The elevator doors opened. Jackson stepped inside. Lisa followed him. He frowned.

"I'm not your friend."

"I know you're not my friend." He waited for her to continue, his gaze disconcertingly cool. "What are you doing here?"

"This is an airport," he explained. "I'm catching a plane."

"You know what I mean, Jackson." He sighed.

"Look, if I show you my papers, will you believe that I'm not this Jackson character?"

He opened his briefcase and took out a burlap sack…no, a mask, she realized as he pulled it down over his face.

"What—"

A cloud of white gas filled the elevator car.

--

Jonathan Crane stared down at the woman huddled on the floor of the elevator. She was a strong one. The toxin had incapacitated her, but she wasn't screaming, crying, or begging for help. She just sat there, shivering and refusing to look at him.

"Now, miss, exactly who do you think I am, and why are you so anxious to make me miss my flight?"

"Jackson Rippner. Assassinations. Government overthrows." Her voice was tense; she was fighting for control. No tears, no hysterics.

"Never heard of him." He pressed the button for the second floor and slipped off his mask, judging that the toxin had cleared out of the air enough not to affect him. She sobbed once when she saw his face.

"I won't let you get away with it."

Well, this wouldn't do. All he had wanted was to get away from Gotham City while there was still time. But now this crazy bitch had ruined his escape plan. He checked his watch. He was never going to make his flight now.

With a sigh, he pressed the button for the parking deck.

"What's your name?"

"L-lisa."

"All right, Lisa. Get up."

"What, no Leese?" she muttered. "You were much more charming last time."

He reached down and pulled her to her feet just as the doors opened on the second floor. An older couple stepped inside.

"Nothing to worry about, Lisa," he said, pulling her into a hug. He slipped off his watch and pressed it against her back, knowing it would feel like a gun to her.

"Anything wrong, dear?" the old woman asked.

"Our daughter is flying alone for the first time," Jonathan said. "But she'll be fine as long as she doesn't panic." Lisa nodded shakily. The old woman gave her a sympathetic smile.

Jonathan kept his arm around Lisa as they walked into the parking lot, away from the old couple.

"Are you going to kill me?" Lisa asked. Her voice was trembling now.

"Not if I don't have to."

"Are you going to kill my dad?" He stared at her. That was a rather odd thing for her to be afraid of.

"No. Do you have a car here?"

"You know I don't."

"Then you're just visiting Gotham?" She started to cry silently.

"You _know_ I am."

"I'm not Jack the Ripper. I don't know you." He chose a car at random, and had the door open in ten seconds. "Do you have hotel reservations?"


	2. Demons on the right

_Author's note: Wow, I'm glad I actually managed to throw a few readers with my little plot twist! It took a lot of tweaking to get that disclaimer just right. I thought for sure that would give it away._

_Actual disclaimer: I don't own _Red Eye, Batman Begins, _or_ Scarecrow: Year One._ But (there's always a but!) I borrow them from my roommate from time to time. Eh...was that funny?_

_

* * *

_Jackson Rippner stood over the young woman who had followed him to Lisa Reisert's hotel room, feeling mildly annoyed. He had tied her up, and just in case she got any bright ideas, he made sure she could see the gun he was pointing at her. 

"Who are you?" she asked. She glared defiantly up at him, dark eyes blazing.

"You know who I am."

"For the record, please…"

"Rachel Dawes." The name meant nothing to him. He nodded anyway.

"Now, was that so hard?" He leaned in close to her. "Why have you been following me, Rachel?"

"You know why." He seriously considered just shooting her.

"Are we going to go through this with every question I ask you?" Her glare darkened.

"Why don't you just gas me again, Crane?"

"Gas you? What? What did you call me?"

"Scarecrow, then, if you prefer."

"Scarecrow? You've lost me, Rach." Her dark eyes filled with confusion.

"Rach?"

"…a few days at most," said an oddly familiar voice from the hall. "Then I'll let you go." The door opened. Jackson swung around, firing a single shot at the couple entering the living room before he recognized the woman as Lisa Reisert. The bullet whizzed past her ear, burying itself in the wall behind her. The muffled bang would not be enough to attract anyone's attention.

The man dove for cover. Lisa simply crumpled, wide-eyed and sobbing. The door swung shut behind her. Jackson laughed.

"I told you I was a lousy shot. I'll be more careful next time, Leese. Tell you're friend to come out."

"You're not my friend," she whispered. "You're not my friend, you're not my friend…"

"Lisa? I'm not in the mood for this."

"She won't be entirely rational for a while yet," said that oddly familiar voice. "Don't shoot."

The man stood up, hands raised, from behind the chair. Jackson nearly pulled the trigger, utterly shocked.

Except for the glasses and the slightly different hairstyle, he could have been looking into a mirror.

The mirror image stared back at him, an expression of frank curiosity on his face.

"Jackson Rippner, I presume?"

"Guilty. And you are?"

"Jonathan Crane. Dr. Jonathan Crane, that is. I think." His voice sounded very much like Jackson's had, before the incident with the pen.

"If your license hasn't been revoked yet, it will be soon," Rachel said. Jonathan's eyes went to her. His expression darkened.

"Good afternoon, Miss Dawes," he said politely. "It's a pleasure, as always. Hotel room bondage is a good look for you."

"You two know each other?" Jackson asked. Jonathan's hand moved down to rub his cheek absently. Jackson noticed a faint red scar there, and wondered what she had done to cause it. "The same way I know Lisa, I'm guessing. Get away from there, Leese." Lisa looked up at him like a guilty child and took her hand away from the doorknob. "Come on. Sit on the bed." She did, taking a path that kept her well out of reach of both Jackson and Jonathan. "See those handcuffs? I want you to cuff yourself to the footboard. And you, Dr. Jonathan Crane…who are you?"

"In relation to you, you mean?" The other man's expression was curious, but his tone was light. "That's a very good question. Were you adopted, by any chance?"

"Yes, actually," Jackson said, surprised. "Although I never knew my parents weren't my parents until after I killed them." Jonathan's eyes lit up.

"You killed your parents? How old were you, if I might ask?"

"I was ten," Jackson said, trying to ignore the surrealness of the conversation.

"Only ten? You had quite a head start on me, then. I was eighteen when I made my first kill, and even older than that when I got around to Granny Keeny." Keeny. "Tell me, was your first time an accident, too?"

"Not really an accident…more like self defense." Jonathan nodded.

"Yes…it's my professional opinion that most of us would be much better off if we just killed our parents as quickly as possible."

"Did you say your grandmother's name was Keeny?" Jackson asked. This was beyond surreal.

"Great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother."

"My mother's name was Karen Keeny," Jackson said.

"Mine, too."

"Karen Keeny…"

"…a drug-addicted minor…"

"…seduced by an older man…"

"…named Gerald Crane."

"Gerald Crane?" Jackson repeated. "I never knew my father's name. Only _hers_." He said down hard in a nearby chair. Almost absentmindedly, he lowered the gun. His hoarse voice sounded as if it were coming from someone else.

"I'm as surprised as you are—Jack, should I call you?"

"Jackson…although I suppose Jack Crane wouldn't have been as bad as Jack Rippner…"

The two men stared at each other, taking in the unavoidable similarities in their appearance and attitudes. Privately, Jackson wondered if it was really possible that he had an unknown brother—and a twin, no less. But the truth was unavoidable.

He wondered how different his childhood would have been if he's had a brother by his side. Would he have been able to withstand the cruelty of parents who had never wanted him and resented his presence in their house? Would he have been accepted by the children at school? Would he have found a use for his talents other than, as he liked to call it, 'government overthrows and flashy, high-profile assassinations'? Or would his life have taken exactly the same course, only with him a little happier because he had someone by his side? Would they have been as close as some of the brothers he had known?

Would they have been friends? He realized he knew nothing about this man, but he did recognize in him a nice, sarcastic sense of humor. He had smiled at all the right points in the conversation.

"Um…excuse me," Rachel said. They both looked at her.

"Do you mind if I gag her?" Jonathan asked. "Once she starts talking, she never shuts up. I think she may be the most irritating person I've ever met."

"No, I don't mind. She was getting a little annoying before you showed up. By the way, does the word 'scarecrow' mean anything to you?"

"The same thing 'assassinations and government overthrows' means to you, I'd imagine." He took off Rachel's socks, balled them up, and stuffed them in her mouth. She squealed in outrage. "You don't work for the League of Shadows, do you?"

"Never heard of it," Jackson said honestly, although he could imagine it was similar to his organization. He said nothing more. Jonathan nodded, reading between the lines.

Jackson's cell phone rang.

"God _damn_, can I not have ten minutes to actually do my job?" he muttered. "It's my boss. Excuse me." He answered. "Jackson Rippner."

"Rippner! I just got your report. What the _hell_ are you doing in Gotham? The target was supposed to be in New York!"

"Plans change, boss," Jackson said, trying not to betray his nervousness. "I'll still get it done." Damn it, the boss knew how easy it was to monitor telephone conversations, even on their secure lines. Why had he abandoned the code?

"No, you won't. Not in Gotham. We _don't touch_ Gotham City."

"Since when?" Not as rude as it sounded; just the coded way of asking for further instructions.

"We don't touch Metropolis. Now we don't touch Gotham. Pull out, Rippner."

"But…I have her."

"Let it slide. Wait for her to move on. I covered for you with the Keefe fiasco; I can't save your ass if you screw this one up, too. You understand that? Instant termination if you make a move, so _take no action_ and _pull out now._"

"But I _have_ her. _Here._ In this room"

"Shit, you do? Oh, shit, Jack. You're fired." Jackson's eyes widened. "I'll petition for civilian transfer, but…"

"You're pink-slipping me?"

"Yes. Run."

The line went dead.

"Wait," Jackson said weakly. What the hell had he missed while he was trapped in that damn hospital?

He stared at Lisa. _All your fault, bitch._

He picked up the gun and shot her before she could scream. He fired again, putting a hole in the mattress. Rachel tried to squirm away. His third bullet caught her in the stomach.

He looked up at Jonathan, who was backing away nervously, made a gesture whose meaning he didn't quite know, and turned the gun on himself.

"Ow! You shot me in the _arm!"_ Lisa said furiously. Jackson looked down at her.

"God damn it, can't you just lie down and do what you're supposed to for once?"

"Come here and I'll bite your fucking legs off," Lisa bellowed, apparently unaware of what she was paraphrasing. Jackson actually had to fight the urge to laugh.

"That's an odd reaction to the fear toxin," Jonathan murmured.

"She's trained herself to react to fear by taking control of the situation. Pretty handy in a crisis."

"And do you react to a crisis by shooting yourself?" Jackson looked down at the gun in his hands.

"In this case, yes. It was nice meeting you, Jonathan."

"As a trained assassin, I'm sure you know that a gunshot wound to the stomach is slow and painful and not one hundred percent sure to kill you. But don't let me tell you how to do your job."

"I'm not an assassin. I'm a manager. Or, at least, I was. I've been fired." He knew Jonathan was just distracting him, trying to talk him down, using the same techniques he had been trained to use, but he couldn't help reacting.

"Okay…that's not good, but losing your job is not the end of the world. Tell me what you're so afraid of." Jonathan's voice was softer than Jackson's had ever been, soothing, comfortingly hypnotic. He sounded like a shrink. There was also a hint of eagerness that might have disturbed Jackson if he had noticed.

"I'm not the manager of _Burger King._ This is a job you don't just leave. They're coming to kill me."

"And you want to make it easier on them?"

"Easier on _myself."_ He closed his eyes for half a second and saw the last manager who had put in for early retirement. There hadn't been much left of him. Jackson's finger tightened on the trigger.

"Why?" Jonathan asked, his patient voice proclaiming that he deserved an answer.

"Short version: I had a job to do, I tried to use Lisa to do it, I failed, she put me in the hospital, my people were upset. They gave the good job to someone else and sent me to take care of Lisa because now she knows too much about us, and since she isn't an accomplice like she _should_ have been, she could actually take her information to the police and be believed, although she seems to be too stupid to realize it. Only, apparently, we don't work in Gotham City anymore. Thanks for telling me, guys."

"Is that all?" Jonathan asked mildly.

"It's not enough? I could tell you exactly _how_ they dispose of former agents." He shivered.

"I don't want to know. And I don't think I'll need to. The solution is right in front of you, Jackson. I mean, a solution other than killing yourself for them."

"What, move to Antarctica?" His…brother (he tested the word and found it strange) gave him a little smirk.

"Stay in Gotham. If your people won't work here, they won't come after _you_ here."

Oh. Jackson could have slapped himself for not thinking of that.

"What about the Man in Tights?"

"The Batman," Jonathan supplied. Jackson bit back a laugh. "It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's really quite…effective." There was a hint of fear in his voice for just a moment. Jackson raised an eyebrow.

"You've met him."

"Twice. The last time, he was smart enough to use my own best weapon against me. I should have known. Fear is his weapon of choice, too."

"Well, that sounds like the perfect man to choose for an enemy," he said sarcastically.

"Oh, he may be good, but he doesn't own this city. There are places darker than even his little heart can dream. I'll show you around if you like." Jackson actually smiled. Jonathan smiled back. "You might want to put the gun away first, or at least point it somewhere else. There's only so much people can accept, even where I live." Self-consciously, Jackson lowered the gun to his side. He must be losing it. He had actually forgotten he had the thing in his hands.

"What about them?" he asked, glancing at the two women on the bed. Lisa was ranting quietly to herself. Rachel was unconscious and bleeding, her face ashen, rather pretty when she wasn't awake and acting like a total bitch.

"How important is it to you to kill the woman?" Jonathan asked. Jackson considered.

"Honestly…it wouldn't kill me to let her live for now, but I would feel better if she were a corpse." Jonathan nodded.

"Of course. I feel the same about Miss Dawes. Do you think we could get the bodies out of the hotel without being noticed?"

"With a full team, I could pull it off. With just the two of us, maybe, but not before midnight."

"Leave them, then," Jonathan said, sounding disappointed. "The Batman comes out at night. He has a history of rescuing the Dawes woman, and the toxin in the other one's system will let him know that I'm still in Gotham." He sighed. "I should have been in Atlanta by now."

"Georgia?"

"The family home is there. I haven't been back since high school, but since Batman and the police are looking for me, it seemed like a good time for a visit."

"You haven't been a criminal very long, have you?" Jackson asked. Jonathan looked troubled.

"You can tell?"

"The family home is the first place they would look for you." The implication of the words hit him then. "There's a family home? There's a family?" Jonathan adjusted his glasses, a nervous gesture.

"The house is empty. Granny's been dead a long time, and she was the only one…But I don't think you would have liked her, anyway." Jackson stared at his…brother. He fought down the urge to laugh.

"This is all like a bad soap opera." Jonathan looked confused.

"A soap opera?"

"Yeah. You know, the whole long-lost twins things. Next we'll have people getting amnesia, slipping into comas, and coming back from the dead." Jonathan looked even more confused. "What, didn't old Granny watch soap operas when you were a kid? I know my mother did."

"Granny used to call television the 'devil-box.'"

"Oh. One of _those_." He felt his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his own nervous habit, and consciously relaxed. "You know, I think we skipped the part where we hug each other and cry."

Jonathan took a step back.

"You want to hug?"

"Well, it is traditional." Jonathan was suddenly on the verge of panic. Amusing. "But I think a handshake would be enough for me." He grinned disarmingly.

"Good," Jonathan said. "I don't hug."

"Me neither, as a rule."

"…hug you within an inch of your life," Lisa babbled. "Give me a pen, Jack. I'll stab you in the eye this time."

"I believe you, Leese. That's what I like about you. For such a 'people pleaser,' you would have made a stellar member of my organization."

"…shove a hockey stick so far up your ass it'll tickle your brain…" She wasn't even listening to him.

"And I thought she was pushy before. What did you do to her…Jonathan?" Jonathan gave him a bashful little smile.

"The better question is, what did _you_ do to her? She's afraid of you. I just brought her fears to the surface."

Jackson made a move toward her. She flinched and screamed, "Touch me and I'll break it off!"

"Neat trick," he said appreciatively.

"I've always liked it," Jonathan agreed. "Although it drove my patients crazy." He laughed, an odd, off-kilter sound that matched the light in his eyes. Then he was normal again, the disturbance gone as quickly as it had come. How very strange. "I'm a psychiatrist," Jonathan explained, mistaking the source of Jackson's confusion. "That's the great tragedy of my 'going criminally insane.' I had such a promising career ahead of me." He clasped his hands in front of him like a schoolgirl. "All ruined by a man in a cape and a nosy girl who can't learn to mind her own business. I don't know why Miss Dawes was so upset about my other work." He prodded Rachel. "What did you care if I earned a little pocket money and gained a few test subjects? It was really none of your business."

"Great," Jackson said with a nervous smile. "I finally find a member of my real family, and he turns out to be crazy." Any stranger, seeing his smile, would have taken it as a joke. Jonathan didn't.

"It could be worse," he said quite seriously. "At least I'm on your side. I could have had bats in my belfry." He poked at the hole in the bedspread. "You really are a lousy shot. What were you trying to hit?" Jackson shrugged.

"Anything. Everything. Just shooting for the sake of shooting, I guess. There's a reason why they don't send me out as a field agent. Are you any good with a gun?"

"I couldn't hit the broad side of a barn." Jonathan seemed to find that amusing. Jackson couldn't imagine why. "You don't need a gun in this city, anyway. The police are useless, and the Batman likes to fight up close, where he can smell that sweet stink of fear." He smiled, eyes unfocused. "It smells like death…"

"In a good way?" Jackson ventured.

"In the best way. Death of the body is just oblivion. Fear can cause the destruction of something altogether more vital. I hesitate to use the word 'soul,' but philosophers have failed to come up with a more accurate word for what I've seen simply disappear from the minds of good people. All the careful structures of society, the concepts of decency and honor, of common courtesy, just run out like water through a cracked glass. It's fascinating to watch. Fear makes us animals, or at least, less than we were. Less than human. Frighten someone enough and you get the death of the will, leaving nothing but a puppet under your control."

"I'll strangle you with your own pants," Lisa raged.

"The violent reactions can be interesting, too," Jonathan said with a smirk. "She's really quite creative, isn't she? But, speaking of violence, if we're going to keep talking, we should probably do it somewhere else. We don't want anyone bursting in on us with the damsels in distress and getting the wrong idea."

"Point taken." Jackson waved cheerily at Lisa. "Bye, Leese. We'll talk again."

"I'll rip out your tongue and cram it down your throat!"

"Yikes," Jackson said. "I'm really shaking now. You sure showed me."

Her voice followed them out into the hall.

"Come back here, Jack! I'll rip your arm off and beat you with the wet end!"

"Is she ever going to get back to normal?" Jackson asked as they walked toward the elevator.

"No one ever completely recovers, psychologically. But, yes, the toxin will work its way out of her system, and eventually she'll regain the appearance of sanity. The marks of terror are hidden and deep."

Jackson grinned.

"We have so much to teach each other."


End file.
